The Scent of You

by Maggie Alderson

  Polly’s mouth was dry. Digger was going to have a feast later; she couldn’t eat another bite either.

  ‘And what did he say?’ she asked, very quietly.

  Lucas looked at her for a moment, rubbing his chin.

  ‘That was the weirdest thing,’ said Lucas, ‘and why I had to find the right time to tell you about this. He said you could ask your friend Maxine. He said she knows everything and he was going to give her permission to tell you. Do you think she’s his girlfriend?’

  ‘No,’ said Polly, shaking her head slowly, taking it all in. ‘She’s not his girlfriend, she’s his therapist. I found her card on his desk today and her name all over his calendar. He’s been seeing her every week, for ages. Every Thursday morning.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Lucas. ‘Do you think she knew you were his wife when she started coming to your yoga classes?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Polly, ‘and wondering about that has been making me feel crazy all day. But the great thing is that – thanks to you, my wonderful brave boy – now I can ask her.’

  She smiled across the table at him, tears springing into her eyes – tears of relief, that some of the gaping holes in her life were finally going to be sewn up.

  For a moment she just sat and enjoyed that feeling. She’d ring Maxine’s practice in the morning and make an appointment, that was the best way to do it. Keep it professional.

  Lucas ordered chocolate ice cream for pudding – saying he thought he could probably find space for that – and Polly asked for another glass of wine. It wasn’t like her to have three, but this was no ordinary evening, she told herself, and they were walking home.

  They chatted more generally for a while, until other questions started to intrude into Polly’s thinking, too urgent to ignore.

  ‘I’ve got to ask you something else about your father,’ she said.

  ‘Fire away,’ said Lucas.

  ‘Did he give you any indication of whether he’s planning to come back home ever? It’s only two weeks until Lori and Rich are coming over and I’m going to have to tell them something.’

  ‘No,’ said Lucas. ‘He just said Maxine will explain everything you need to know and we’ll have to make do with that. But he did say Rich has been in touch with him about the visit and he’s told him he’ll be away on a research trip, so they already know he’s not going to be here.’

  ‘So has he really gone this time?’ said Polly. ‘Or is he hiding somewhere else in plain sight?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Lucas. ‘I’ve had it confirmed by the all-knowing entity. Maureen has confirmed that he’s gone to Turkey. For a month. She booked the tickets for him.’

  Polly sipped her wine, processing it all. She was beginning to feel like she needed an external hard drive to store some of the data. It was too much for one human brain.

  Then it occurred to her what would make it all easier to deal with: seeing Chum. She didn’t need to tell him about it, just being with him would make her feel better.

  So when Lucas nipped off to the loo she sent Chum a text asking if he felt like a walk and had an almost immediate reply: Tomorrow?

  Friday, 1 April

  Polly’s heart was beating so fast she thought it might be visible through her clothes as she stood just inside the sliding glass doors of Rockham Park, waiting for the chugging sound of Chum’s diesel engine.

  She’d arrived early to have lunch with Daphne to be sure she’d be able to leave her in time to meet Chum at 3 p.m. Although it was Friday, he hadn’t been able to make it over for his usual lunch date with Bill, but he was coming to collect her.

  She was already feeling a bit woozy from sleep deprivation, after spending the night obsessing over whether she should have had the meeting with Maxine before she made arrangements to meet up with Chum again. But in the end she’d decided she had to see him first. She couldn’t work out what was morally correct any more. It was all too bewildering. And she needed the boost of some Chum company to get her through it.

  She fidgeted from foot to foot, feeling as though time was stretching as she waited, but a glance at the clock on the wall behind her confirmed that it was only five-past-three. You couldn’t really call it late yet, but why wasn’t he here? She wanted to drum her feet like a frustrated toddler.

  She stepped forward so the automatic doors slid open and put her head out into the fresh air, as though that would somehow speed him up. Then, as she stepped back again, she finally heard the tick of the Land Rover’s engine.

  At exactly that moment she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard her mother’s voice.

  ‘Polly darling?’ she said. ‘You’re still here. I thought you’d left right after lunch.’

  Polly spun round to look at her, gaping like a fish.

  ‘I was just going to have a rest,’ Daphne was saying, ‘but then I thought it was such a nice afternoon I’d come down again and sit on the terrace outside for a little while, and then I saw you were still here.’

  ‘I, um, well . . .’ Polly was saying, when she heard the glass doors swish open again, and the smile that broke across her mother’s face said it all.

  Polly swung round to see Chum, just as he stepped over the threshold and took in the scenario.

  ‘Hello, both of you,’ he said, collecting himself brilliantly. ‘How are you, Daphne?’

  He stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks.

  ‘Hello, Edward,’ she said. ‘Have you come to see Bill? He’s out on the terrace, doing the crossword. I was just about to join him.’

  Polly was still mute.

  ‘Hi, Hippolyta,’ said Chum, kissing her cheeks and giving her left hand – the side Daphne couldn’t see – a reassuring squeeze. Polly’s innards danced.

  ‘Yes, great,’ he said, ‘we can all have a cup of tea together and then Hippolyta and I are going for a walk, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Polly, her voice restored. ‘With the dogs.’

  ‘Oh, how nice,’ said Daphne. ‘It’s just the day for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Polly, ‘that’s what I thought. That’s why I just texted Edward to see . . .’

  He nudged her, as he walked over towards Daphne.

  ‘Don’t overexplain,’ he whispered as he passed, then stopped next to Daphne and crooked his left arm for her to take.

  Then he looked back to Polly and stuck out his right elbow, so he had one of them on each side as they walked through to the coffee room towards the French windows that led onto the terrace.

  ‘Look what I’ve got, Bill,’ said Chum, as they stepped outside, ‘two beauties.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ said Bill, standing up. ‘I think that’s a bit greedy. Are you all coming to join me? How delightful.’

  Chum pulled out one of the cane chairs for Daphne, and Polly hovered, not knowing what to do with herself.

  ‘Right,’ said Chum. ‘Polly and I will get the tea. I think we know who takes what between us.’

  She practically ran inside and he came in after her, grinning, and wrapped his arms round her, backing her into the sideboard and pressing his body against hers.

  ‘Chum!’ she said, squealing. ‘They’ll see us.’

  ‘Oh, who cares?’ he said, nuzzling her neck in a way that made her feel quite faint. ‘But they won’t, anyway. Not looking from the bright sunshine into the dark room, and with the glass door carefully closed by moi. Bill’s half-blind anyway.’

  Polly giggled. ‘And Daphne’s too vain to wear specs,’ she said.

  Then she couldn’t say anything else, because Chum was kissing her.

  ‘Just relax, it’s all fine,’ he said, letting go of her and starting to put cups on saucers, teabags in cups. ‘Act normally. They know we’re friends, they know the dogs are mad about each other, and if they do figure out there might be a little frisson between us as well . . .’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘. . . I think they’ll be delighted.’

  Polly couldn’t help laughing. But she was still
nervous, and could feel her face creasing into some kind of rictus spasm.

  Chum looked at her, his own expression more serious. He took hold of both her hands. ‘What are you so worried about, my sweet pea?’ he said.

  Polly couldn’t say it, she just sighed heavily.

  ‘The husband aspect?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Bill doesn’t have the foggiest idea about your marital situation,’ said Chum. ‘And as your mother hasn’t seen or heard of your husband for the past three months, I imagine she might have an inkling that things are a little . . . shifted, in that area? Have you talked to her about it?’

  ‘I have, actually,’ said Polly.

  ‘What did she say?’ asked Chum.

  Polly couldn’t help laughing. She felt like she was on an emotional see-saw.

  ‘She said she never liked him,’ Polly said.

  ‘Great!’ said Chum. ‘I love Daphne more every time I see her. Right, let’s get this tea out to them. Your mum takes hers black, doesn’t she? You bring the biscuits, I’ll follow on with the hot beverages.’

  Now Chum had calmed her down, Polly started to enjoy herself. Bill was always good company and Daphne was at her sparkling best, enjoying the presence of two gallant chaps to reflect her glamour back to her.

  Polly was just happy to be with Chum, watching him interact with the others. Apart from the Easter lunch and the odd chat with the olds over coffee, she hadn’t spent that much time with him when other people were there, and seeing him teasing Bill and being interested in what Daphne had to say – even when she was going on a bit too long about a shoot on Tobago with Parkie – made her like him even more. He had a very appealing, confident ease, not at all arrogant, just an air of feeling comfortable with himself and others.

  Polly couldn’t help thinking that David would have been so different in the same situation. Not rude, just not very happy to be there, and even though he would try to fit in, Polly had always been aware that people picked up on his unease.

  Had he been sitting with some terrible secret the whole time? Was that what she was going to find out from Maxine? From what he’d told Lucas, it seemed so.

  Polly pushed the thought away, irritated that anything to do with David had come into her mind at all in that happy moment. She’d be seeing Maxine soon enough. She was allowed to put it to the back of her mind until then; she had given herself that permission.

  ‘So, Hippolyta,’ she heard Chum saying, realising she’d tuned out for a moment.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, shaking her head a little as she came to.

  ‘Shall we go and have that walk, then?’ he said, the edges of his mouth tweaked up in his naughtiest grin. ‘The dogs will be getting very restless.’

  ‘Yes, that would be super,’ said Polly, then tried not to laugh at herself. ‘Super’? Where had that come from? Super-duper.

  ‘Good plan,’ said Bill, ‘make the most of this lovely afternoon.’

  Chum stood up and raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Polly, who stumbled to her feet, nearly landing face down on the coffee table. She could see he was trying not to laugh.

  ‘Bye, Bill,’ said Polly, leaning down to peck him on the cheek.

  Then, as she leaned down to kiss her mother, Daphne took hold of her upper arm in a tight grip.

  ‘Well done, darling,’ she said. ‘Go get him.’

  Polly was so surprised she forgot the kiss and stood up, blinking at her mother in amazement. Daphne smiled broadly and closed both eyes at her, like a contented cat.

  Chum was laughing as they bowled along the country lane outside Rockham Park at his usual reckless speed, the two dogs lying happily together behind the metal guard in the back.

  ‘You are so funny,’ he was saying. ‘You could do slapstick. Is that the result of all your years of yoga? Expressing everything you’re feeling through physical movement?’

  Without warning he suddenly wrenched the vehicle over into a small layby and stopped, pulling the handbrake up violently. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I think I need to express my own feelings through physical movement right now.’

  In what seemed like one action, he unclipped his seat belt and Polly’s, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her.

  ‘Mmmmm,’ he whispered. ‘How I’ve been longing to do that again.’

  He pulled back to shrug his jacket off and then looked at her with his head on one side.

  ‘Shall we put the seat back down?’ he said.

  Polly giggled and felt down the side of the seat to find the lever. The back of it flopped flat and Chum half-climbed over to her side of the car, kissing her and running his hands over her body.

  Then he pulled her jumper up and started kissing her tummy, from her navel down a little and then up again, brushing his lips over her skin, biting it very gently, then kissing it again. Polly heard herself start to pant as wave of desire swept through her.

  Then his face was up by hers, kissing her, then pulling back, looking into her eyes, before kissing her again.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, ‘you turn me into a madman.’

  Then he glanced away for a moment and Polly saw his face crease into a grin.

  ‘Look,’ he said, gesturing to the back of the car with his head.

  Polly turned her head and saw Digger and Artemis standing with their noses pressed to the metal grid, watching them keenly, tails wagging. Digger saw her and barked his quick friendly greeting.

  ‘I think they approve,’ said Chum, leaning on his elbow and gazing down at Polly. He traced the lines of her face with his left forefinger, then kissed the end of her nose.

  ‘This is lovely,’ he said, ‘but I think I’d like to be somewhere more comfortable with you . . . and less public.’

  Polly smiled in agreement. He kissed her quickly on the lips and clambered back into his seat. She flipped hers up and they set off again.

  ‘Would you like to come to my place?’ said Chum, sounding uncharacteristically shy. ‘Not Hanley Hall, sadly, but where I really live. It’s rather more modest, but it’s cosy.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Polly, with no hesitation, thinking she would have quite happily gone to a tent in a desert with him.

  They drove on in silence, Chum holding Polly’s hand tightly on his knee, only letting go of it to change gear. It made his driving even more terrifying, but Polly didn’t care, feeling as though she were floating along on a magic carpet. Nothing seemed quite real, but everything was wonderful.

  ‘Not far now,’ said Chum, turning quickly to smile at her, as he veered left and they drove through a small, pretty village.

  Chum raised his hand in greeting to a couple of people they passed.

  ‘That’s my local,’ he said as they drove past a thatched pub. ‘I might take you in there later. Show you off.’

  Polly smiled, assuming he was joking.

  A couple of miles along the lane on the other side of the village, they came to a cluster of farm buildings.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Chum, coming to a stop in front of a crossbar gate.

  Polly jumped out to open it, then followed the Land Rover up a short track to where Chum had stopped just outside a large gateway set into a lovely old red-brick building.

  She caught up as Chum was letting the dogs out of the back. Digger pushed his nose against her hand for reassurance and she patted him, letting him know it was fine for him to go with his doggy friend. The two of them raced off and Chum came and put his arm round Polly’s waist.

  ‘This is where I live and work,’ he said, walking her through the gate into a quadrangle, which she realised had stables on three sides. ‘It’s a livery yard. A sort of equine boarding house.’

  Horses heads appeared over the half-doors, looking out to see who was there.

  ‘They can smell me,’ said Chum. ‘I’ll just see who’s here from my team; they’re probably in the tack room. You can introduce yourself to the horses – their names are on the stalls.’

&
nbsp; Chum strode off and Polly went over to the nearest horse, quite a small black pony. It shook its mane when it saw her coming and pushed its head towards her. Polly stroked its head, breathing in deeply, relishing the warm horse smell, mixed with grassy notes from the hay in its feed basket and a tang of ammonia from the straw on the floor.

  ‘Hello, Freddie,’ she said, looking at the name over the door. ‘You’re lovely, aren’t you? I’m sorry I haven’t got anything for you.’

  She scratched him behind his ears for a bit then moved on to the next stall, working her way along the row. Most of the horses were inquisitive and happy to be stroked and talked to, except for one grey, which flinched away from her touch and skittered against the floor with its hooves.

  There was a loud whinny from the far left stall and Polly could see a beautiful bay, tossing its black mane and seeming to demand attention. She went over and saw the name ‘Sorrel’ on the plate.

  ‘So you’re Sorrel,’ said Polly, bringing her hand up slowly so the horse could smell it. Then Sorrel pushed her nose against Polly and she stroked it very gently, loving the velvety feeling under her hand. The horse stepped back suddenly, tossing her splendid mane and whinnying, her metal shoes striking the brick floor, then she came back and pressed her head against Polly’s hand again.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ said Polly, ‘and absolutely huge. Look at you. No wonder he loves you.’

  Polly hadn’t heard Chum come up behind her until he spoke.

  ‘That’s a very lovely picture,’ he said. ‘She likes you, Hippolyta. She doesn’t let many people stroke her like that, especially when she hasn’t been formally introduced. Let me do that now: Polly, this is Sorrel. Sorrel, this is Polly.’

  ‘Hello, Sorrel,’ said Polly, stroking down the horse’s long shiny neck. ‘You are very fine and very big. What is she? Sixteen hands something?’

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘I’m impressed. She’s sixteen hands three. So you do know something about horses.’

  ‘Like I told you, I had riding lessons when I was a kid. I loved it, but my mum wasn’t keen for me to take it seriously. She said it was bad for my skin being out in all weathers, and I might get a big bum.’